Candles
by tidalutopia
Summary: What does Elsie Hughes have in common with Isobel Crawley? Both are drowning in the loneliness that they find themselves - yet, after all those years, they were still shy about their feelings, and they were too old to be so shy. A post-season 4 work around two women and their desire for love, touch and romance. It will have some personal headcanons implied on the story. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Since I seem to draw most of my inspiration for fanfictions from songs, this one comes from one of my favourite bands that have been recently around – Daughter. This song, sadly, is not on their debut album, but on their first EPs, and it's on Spotify if anyone wants to go and have a listen. The song is called Candles. Which is also the name of this work. This, as I intend it, this will follow Elsie and Isobel in their way to understand whatever is happening with them. As always, reviews are appreciated, delays on chapters are to be expected (since I suck and I always have work to do! –sighs- ) and any and every question you have, twitter &amp; tumblr are your go-to places.**

…

\- You're too old to be so shy - 

Saturday night. A night clear as glass, all stars in the sky visible, yet, Elsie was awake once again. Being able to sleep was getting harder as years went by, for reasons unknown, but she thought it was her getting older and older with every heartbeat. It did not scare her, but it did somehow infuriated her. With age came wisdom, words ready to be spoken, experiences to share – yet Elsie felt like she hadn't lived enough to talk about most things women would talk those days. Gossip. She hated most of it. Although she welcomed some, because she had to sigh and compare herself to something. There wasn't much there though, so the other thing most women would talk would be Men. Men.

She could talk about her father, her siblings, her friends back in her homeland, his Lordship… Few more. Charles Carson, perhaps. He was friend, wasn't he? She could talk about him, holding blushes and sighs behind her white skin bathing her face. He was probably sleeping, probably working, probably none of those. But he was most certainly there for her. Reassuring that have someone so tall an charming and caring always there to hear a word or thousands of them.

It was late, but she wanted to go outside. She had still the dress she always used on, for she sat on the bed doing nothing but wondering, looking out of a small window. She would go outside, breathe in, then get back inside. Perhaps the going up and down the stairs would make her tired enough for a yawn or two. A huge perhaps, as everything regarding her personal life was. A huge, an immense perhaps.

She lit a candle, even though she could perfectly flick a switch and let the technology and science literally lighten up her way, but she wanted to feel the scent of wax burning down filling her nostrils, like the foam of the waves dancing with the sand, filling the voids. She missed the yellow light of candles. She started walking carefully down stairs and walls, her footsteps being quiet – for few to no one should know that she was out and about. Her shadow as frightening as she noticed how big and small it could be with that dim light, but even so, living was scarier. So she walked towards the door. Onwards. Opening it. Getting through it. Seeing the night with her own eyes.

"Isn't it lovely…?" She mumbled, the light of her candle getting weaker, as she stared at the sky. "Isn't it lovely…"

Charles had noticed a light through a crack of the door of his pantry – he was up too. Reading, mostly, for he suffered the same fault as Elsie did: trouble with falling asleep. Between his poems and proses and thesis, Charles found himself eased at heart for finding something to do while he couldn't possibly make any noise. He liked the noise inside his brain, but he did not like what he was noticing – someone, so late at night, going out of the house.

So he followed the footsteps, the shadows, the light. He was out too, and he saw the vulture of Elsie standing still, looking up. What a gracious view, what a lovely woman. He sighed in relief that it was her – of course it would be her. Who, in that house, who'd get so needy of a good stare at stars in the middle of the night?

"Mrs. Hughes, you should get in." He said calmly, trying not to startle her. "It is cold outside."

The light of her candle died, and so died her moment.

"I do know that, Mr. Carson, but I just want to take another good look."

She did not look at him. In that moment he was invisible. Only voice, no body, nothing more. He took some steps forward, standing in a good, in a proper distance from this woman.

"I would ask you why you're here."

"I can't possibly fall asleep today." She replied shortly, as soon as he finished.

"Well, I wish I could help you with that, but I suffer from the same."

She lowered her gaze and turned around. He looked so tired, yet, so handsome, the cold breeze clearly leaving a mark on his breath, the light of the moon bathing his eyes. The corners of her lips curved up, showing a warming smile.

"Perhaps… Perhaps it's a curse, isn't it?" She sighed. "Well, it is getting cold…"

"It is."

"…And we are to wake up early. Good night, Mr. Carson."

She went past him, a final look and a smile as she went by. Charles followed her inside, closing the door, but he let her go her way. He felt improper to follow a woman like her, that walked like a queen on a red carpet, her heels making a quiet, small punctual sound, as if she was about to dance her way to her bedroom. The night would go through, and his sleep was returning to him. He should go too.

…

"Mr. Carson, you do not know if Mrs. Crawley is at her house, do you?"

Elsie asked, between the space that was the door to his pantry and the corridor, her hand leaning on the border of said wall. He was taken by a sweet surprise.

"I don't think I would know." He replied, a smile lingering on lips, his hands slowing his polishing.

"Well, but you always seem to know everything. I'm not bothering you-"

"You are not, you are never bothering me." He interrupted. "I assume you have to do something regarding Mrs. Crawley, if so, I hope you forgive me for not knowing where she is. But you may as well go there and find it yourself. After church, perhaps?"

She smiled silently. "You read my thoughts. You are forgiven, Mr. Carson. You are forgiven."

"Thank the gods, it would be too much of a sin!" His joke let a heartfelt laugh coming out her throat.

Church was boring, but it would always be boring to Elsie. Her God was her own, to the one she prayed, her own to keep, and even though she'd endure the tedious hour sitting on that church, she'd pray to herself to that god. She did the same while she was sick. While the girls were growing up. While the war was still a word filling her mind. But as she had finally stepped out of that place, she spotted Isobel quite easily.

Isobel was somehow easy to find in big crowds. She wasn't one to stand out, but she wasn't one to be ignored too. The way she walked and the way she talked were far too easy to identify, or that was probably because Elsie had already found a way to recognize those traits. She approached the widow, as she walked alone – she had left her company seconds ago, choosing a different road to tread.

"Good day, Mrs. Crawley." Elsie greeted calmly.

Isobel, after having taken notice of her new companion, smiled and placed a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Good day to you too, Mrs. Hughes. It is certainly a good one, isn't it?"

"A bit cold still, but spring is indeed in the corner."

"That is true, and I'm quite hopeful this spring will not ruin my gardens like last year." Isobel sighed, a joking sigh, a sigh nonetheless. "Did you need anything, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Actually…" Elsie was a bit shy to ask such thing of a higher born woman. She only wanted to talk. Things she couldn't possibly talk with any other person in that town, and she had found and good companion on Beryl Patmore – but Isobel was more livid, more charming, smarter than Mrs. Patmore. It wasn't a mean compliment to the cook, but they stood on the same ground regarding most things. Hearing from another woman, such intelligence and grace in words, such wisdom in thoughts, was what Elsie needed.

Isobel, with a smile on the lips, grew somewhat impatient. It wasn't every day that Elsie would reach for her, so something must be bothering the housekeeper. Elsie, if anything, had only been a good woman for her. They were close in age, but not close in thoughts and heart as she hoped they'd be. "Yes…?"

"…I wanted to talk to you about something for a while, Mrs. Crawley. I do not want to waste your time, for it is most certainly silly of me talking about such subject with you when I could find someone more proper to do so…"

"Am I not proper enough for you, Mrs. Hughes? What a shame!"

"No! Pardon me, it is not that – I hold you in the highest of regards, that's why I chose you to… well, talk." She grew a blush on her cheeks.

Isobel chuckled lightly, patting the woman's shoulder before crossing her hands behind her back. "Do not fret, dearest Mrs. Hughes, I was only kidding. But I am afraid I do not catch your train of thought in this one…"

Elsie sighed deeply before letting any other word. "It might be because I cannot speak about it here…"

"Well…" Isobel seemed to notice something in the other woman's voice. A need to vent thoughts. Isobel could do that, for Elsie was worthy enough of attention. She was a proper girl, she thought. Something must be troubling her thoughts, she thought. "…You can always come to my humble home for tea today, for I understand I couldn't simply drag you to have luncheon with me today."

"That would be great, Mrs. Crawley." Elsie smiled gently. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"Just tell me something… is it… oh, never mind – I do not want to be spoiled. You should know that you are never a bother, darling Mrs. Hughes. I am not your ladyship, you can see me as a friend. Come by for tea, then!"

Elsie nodded. Isobel was wise. Isobel knew of love and pain and good and bad endings. She knew how to ease hearts.


	2. Chapter 2

**As I have said some days ago that I was sorry for my delays on this story – I can't help to have priorities. As you all know, I am student, so study is the thing to do, and this is somehow my escape. So for all of you that have followed, read and reviewed, and even those who haven't done it and came here for the first time, a huge thank-you. I'll say this again: if you guys want to talk with me regarding anything fandom-wise, you can do so by PM, tumblr or twitter!  
This chapter of the story may be slightly controversial and perhaps a bit OOC towards Isobel. But here's the thing – I have said that this might have my personal headcanons implied in the plot. One of them is that Isobel is quite forward towards certain themes that should be somehow taboo'd in that decade. And the other is that Elsie and Charles had already have an affair while they were younger. So you've been warned – this is my personal vision and universe. Keep that in mind while you read it! And yes, I do know that this is rather shorter than the first one. I'm quite sorry about it!**

-/-

…_just a young heart confusing my mind,  
but we're both in silence…_

As the lunch ended, Elsie would often allow her thoughts to drift away from her duties. She wondered how she'd ask Isobel, this big, yet touchable lady who was so wise and grand, if it was wise to love in that age. If it was wise to still feel a flame burning the veins, until the heart starts jumping; if it was good to shiver when a certain voice is heard. If Elsie knew any better, she wouldn't care about those things. No one, but God, no one could judge her. After what she had been through, all those years, she was fundamentally free to do whatever she wanted without a care in the world, but yet she was ashamed of opening her mouth. Why? It certainly wasn't because Isobel was a higher lady, and most certainly not because she did not know what love was and what it brought. It was… at least, probably, because of the person in question being Charles Carson.

Oh, how she often remembers that night, many years ago, she wasn't even working for more than a month where Charles Carson, thinner, less charming, but no less handsome, took her hands, kissed them, before pulling her into his strong embrace. He smelled of grease and cheap cologne and sweat from work. He tasted like cheap whiskey and cheap cigars. But his kiss she deepened, poisoned by his presence. She let her go that night, and not a word was spoken, only eyes spoke the story of that single night. Afraid of a couple of human beings aboe them and their judgement, they stopped right there. No more hands. No more lips. No more nights spent in a small room and a small bed. A wrong that was right in all strands of her hair.

She chose her best dress, her best coat, her best shoes and went on her way in the afternoon. Isobel was waiting, she thought. She began to brainstorm means and ways to speak with this woman. Never mind what she thought – yes, Isobel wasn't her ladyship, wasn't paying her share of the work she did. But she used the rooms in the house, and Elsie served her. Served her son. Elsie was, in the end of the day, a servant. A woman, yes, just as a woman as Isobel was, but a servant nonetheless. What would Isobel think? What would Isobel say? At least she could count on her discretion. She knew Isobel knew better than to spoke of Elsie behind her back. After all, Isobel wasn't the kind of woman lady Cora was… or even the Dowager, which Elsie held as much regard as someone could.

As she reached the Crawley house, she noticed a fairly familiar face closing the big door behind him. She stopped walking as he approached.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Clarkson." She greeted, nodding. After all, he was a good man.

Richard Clarkson smiled a took his hat as he stopped to greet Elsie back. "Good afternoon to you too, Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Crawley told me you'd join her this afternoon."

"Did she? Goodness."

"Yes, she did." He chuckled. "And I only came to give her something, I will not bother you two any further."

Elsie chuckled too. A small chuckle, a lot of relief falling down her shoulders. She wouldn't be able to open his mouth in front of him. Not him. Not any men for that matter. "You wouldn't be bothering anything, Dr. Clarkson."

"That may be true, but I have work to attend. No rest for the wicked."

And so he went, having said his goodbyes as he walked past Elsie. And so she went, rang for the door, and waited for a response. It did not take long until Isobel herself answered the door. There she was, beautiful as always, a smile on her face, and her hand guiding the way for Elsie to follow. She entered, and followed the higher lady to her living room, sitting when told so, speaking when told so.

"Now, now, Mrs. Hughes – you shall not be so stiff around me." Isobel said, as she sat across her, hands laying gently on her lap. "I am not your ladyship…"

"I do know that-"

"And I'm most certainly not someone who you should bow and courtsie all the time. You may have served me a few times, but right now, you're my guest." She interrupted Elsie from talking, making the housekeeper smile nervously. "I do understand that it might be a little confusing. But there's always a first time for everything, isn't there?"

Elsie nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Crawley. You are correct."

She felt like every muscle had relaxed. Isobel's aura was something that soothed, that eased.

"Then tell me, what is this most great subject that you need so desperately to speak with me? Is everything okay?"

Was it? Well, to start, Elsie felt like she was only a little woman, without any notions of the world. She had never spoken of men, or love, or anything related to it, to anyone really – Beryl wouldn't count, and most certainly not Charles. She tried her best to keep herself out of any topic of conversation. Speaking about her was harder, was a lot more risky than speaking about others.

"You must excuse my… curiosity, ma'am, but you know… There are things one can't help but to wonder at this age." Elsie sighed. "I thought to myself that you'd be… the only person to understand what I am feeling. You are truly an experienced woman…"

Isobel scoffed, and smiled.

"…But really, you are! You went through so much. That shows another fiber, that shows strength. Wisdom, even. And I admire you immensely, I do."

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes. I've only done what I was taught to do, or rather, what I taught myself to do as years went by. To carry on." Isobel couldn't help but to smile. Being admired was something she was not used to. "May I ask you why you're telling me all this?"

"Because me and you have shared some secrets in the past. It might be a recent one, but you're the kind of woman I'd trust… well, you're the kind of woman I'd call a friend, if I may so myself."

"But of course we are friends, Mrs. Hughes! To think the other way around, what a silly thing to do. I wouldn't receive you here as a guest if we weren't friends, now, would I?" Isobel chuckled. "But let me ask you something, before you continue."

Elsie raised her eyebrow quietly. "You may, yes."

"Is all of this because of Mr. Carson, or am I terribly mistaken?"

For the first time in years, Elsie was at a complete loss of words. How could she figure it out so easily? Was it written in her skin? Was it so obvious? Elsie feared. Elsie, in that moment, feared so much like she has never feared in the past. Things like that ought not leave one's mind, or one's heart, and they mustn't leave one's mind or heart when we're speaking of a housekeeper! The distress it would cause. Elsie felt her face going pale, her throat gone sore.

"Oh, the tea has arrived!" Said Isobel as cheerful as she could ever, side eyeing her guest as quietly as she could. She knew she had just hit the point with that question. She wasn't a woman to be wrong when her intuition was as sharp as her tongue. "So, Mrs. Hughes, is it?"

What would Elsie answer? A simple yes would be too forward. A maybe would be too insecure.

"…Well, you've said enough. Be at ease, Mrs. Hughes. I'm not dumb. I figured it out years ago." And she kept hitting the spot. "I was just waiting for a confirmation."


	3. Chapter 3

It took me longer, way longer than what I wanted it to take. I could go and write a long excuse to why I haven't written anything, but it would only be an excuse. I… I just lost track of myself for a while. I went through some rough months and I wasn't very stable to write anything other than depressing poetry. I will, though, finish this story. I owe you this. It won't be just now... I'm planning at least another chapter. But I will finish this story before I can move on and try writing anything more. As always, reviews (or comments), follows (or kudos) are always appreciated. Until next time.

-/-

Elsie wasn't exactly in the position to not reply, or to run away. How rude it would be for her to do something like that! After all, she went through the trouble of having Mrs. Isobel Crawley having tea with her, in her own home, taking her precious time. What would she do? The higher woman was waiting for an answer.

"How…" She started to talk. Quietly, almost inaudible, but it was something. "…how did you find out…?"

"So is that a yes?" Isobel grinned.

"Mrs. Crawley, I…"

"Oh, fret not, Mrs. Hughes! It's not the end of the world. At least being in love doesn't count as 'end of the world' now, does it?" Her grin got wider, her hands clasped in her lap, right after she placed her cup carefully on the table. "You and Mr. Carson are thick as thieves. I really did believe you were married, or at least together at first – then I find out that you're not, and I must say I was disappointed. Not in a bad way. I understood the implications of a marriage in a house like that."

It was harder to breathe for Elsie. How did Isobel find out that they were not together? Who did she ask? Certainly – and hopefuly – not the Dowager, or his lordship, or lady Cora. Worse, did she ask Charles personally?

"But the times I saw you two together, I just thought that there should be more than friendship between you two. Not to mean that a woman and a man can't be friends, but… I don't know. You two share something stronger." Isobel sighed. "And don't look so shocked. Where I come from, there's things like this all the time. I don't particularly care about gossip, or eavesdropping, hence I've never told anyone about this… suspicion of mine."

Elsie sighed in relief, but she was still… well, not scared, but at least shocked to the bone. "But… how did you find out that we were not… married?"

"I just looked at both of your files in the hospital. I know, I shouldn't have done that, I've violated your personal life and Mr. Carson's. But I was very, very curious. I just figured that if you two were married, it would be common knowledge. If not, well, I wouldn't bother with it. But you two were very mysterious."

Elsie raised an eyebrow, as she finally got the strength to raise her cup from the table, making the porcelain meet her lips. "…Mysterious? Mysterious how?"

"Were you two together in the past?"

Elsie almost coughed his tea out of her throat. That was too forward of a question. Unexpected, like the best of thieves. Stealing information to those ones who were unaware.

"…I should have waited, shouldn't I?" Isobel excused herself, feeling at least a bit ashamed. "Sometimes my curiosity takes a hold of me… I mean no harm. I'm a friend, Mrs. Hughes. A curious one, but one nonetheless. None of this will leave this room."

"…Not together. There were barely any words, really." Elsie spoke carefully, looking into her bland reflection in the tea. "It was… many years ago, really. I'd be surprised if he still remembers. I wasn't even in the house for a month, but I was completely intoxicated with him. He wasn't as charming as he is now. He was still a bit rude to any woman's tastes when he'd find the time to be rude, but he was as handsome as ever. And one night, he told me to come with him outside, saying something about the moon being beautiful, I don't quite remember what he said… but I do remember that I went with him. Who wouldn't? He was quite popular amongst the maids. But he only talked to me, gave attention to me."

"And…?"

"Outside, he pulled me closer. I… I wasn't… I'm not the kind of woman that is easily swept off her feet, I learned that from my mother. But he was kind and handsome and not like any other man that tried to swoon me."

Isobel was amusing herself with this tale. She wanted to know more.

"I've always thought of Mr. Carson as the kind of man that could meld the coldest of hearts." Isobel said, smiling gently. "But please, do continue."

"He kissed me. No man had ever kissed me before. I never gotten to that point. But… I don't know what had gotten into me, I had clinged into him so much during a few days after that. And he never backed out. Not a step back. Not an unwanted taste in his lips. Nothing. I thought he loved me. I thought I loved him."

"And did you two…?" Isobel gestured something, implying something she should have thought twice.

To Isobel's surprise, Elsie didn't stutter, she only stopped talking. She was sure Isobel wouldn't mean anything bad by asking such question. In love and war everything was possible.

"…We shared a bed, yes. A couple of times, when we could. When we thought it was safe to do so. I had never been with a man. I didn't care if he had a story behind him with other women… He was the one." Elsie sighed deeply. "We were in love. Very much in love, in fact. But we had to put that behind. For our sake."

Isobel raised her eyebrow this time. She wasn't sure how stopping what they were doing was going to be any good for them. Bates and Anna were married, were they not? Weren't they in that same position as Elsie and Charles were? What did change?

"I don't understand."

"You wouldn't, Mrs. Crawley. We did not understand too. But we were getting too dependent on each other. What we were doing… It was risky to do it in secrecy. It was even riskier to do it if it was common knowledge to both staff and family. Times were different, things were different, and even if it only lasted a couple of weeks, we had to put it behind us. So we found love in other things. On the job, on the family, on the house."

"But Mr. Bates and Anna…" Isobel tried to speak, but Elsie did not let her.

"Like I've said, things were different. This job was the only thing we had. For both him and me. Losing it would mean going back to my home. And I wanted to stay in Downton. So we managed to live through the love, and kept close… without being closer."

Isobel was mesmerized. She did not know how sad the once fun thought she had was. When Isobel loved someone, she had never the trouble to say it, state it, or to fight for it. But for Elsie… it was something completely different. She couldn't grasp how different, but she didn't want to.

"…" Isobel opened her mouth, but she preferred to hydrate her throat before saying anything. "And what now, Mrs. Hughes? What of you two? How can I advise you without risking your life's worth of work?"

Elsie breathed in. "The truth is… The more I know about him, the more I know that I am in love. I've learned about his past. I've learned about his pain… And that, instead of steering me away from him, it only made me get closer. I… I don't know what to do. If I say anything, I might risk losing his respect. Sometimes I force him to step out of his comfort bubble… When we had the day off to go to the beach, I wanted him to hold my hand and walk with me into the open sea. He thought of it as risky. But he did it anyway. I don't know if he looks at me and sees the woman I was all those years ago. I don't know if he dreams about me like he used to tell me. I don't know if there was any other woman…"

"I'm sure there wasn't."

"When he looks at other women, I… It's not envy, or jealousy. Is far less complicated…it's something like fear. He has this admiration, this huge admiration for Lady Violet. He has a soft side for Lady Cora. He thinks of Lady Mary as her own daughter. Even when Mrs. Levinson is here, I feel like he has his eyes on her."

Isobel chuckled. "I did not know you were the insecure type. For all I know, you're not afraid of me, are you? I have my hands full. And for all that it is worth, he's not my type. Charming and handsome and all, but I wouldn't look at him any other way."

"I did not imply that-"

"I know. I was just joking, with a bit of truth in it. But let me tell you something… Do you think he'd be with them if he wanted? I don't think so. I've seen his eyes looking at all those women you've spoken of. Like you've said, he loves them – but it's a love different from what you had. It's part of his job, and he loves his job. At least it seems he does."

Elsie raised her cup of tea for another sip.

"But I've seen how he looks at you and after knowing all of this, my dear Elsie Hughes… You are the one to him as well. One knows when a man as a girl in his mind. It's in his eyes. In his movements. Why don't you come near him and tell him how you feel? It shouldn't be difficult. You can use my house if you want, if you need more privacy. I can come up with some excuse-"

"Mrs. Crawley, I'm so very sorry for interrupting you, but… why? Why reassure me so easily?"

"Because I believe that if one is in love and that love is shared with the loved one, nothing should stop them. If that love went through years of maturing, bad times, laughs, a louder word or two, it's not something to be ashamed of. If you love him, tell him again. It only takes a few words. No one is asking you two to elope, or to run away. Love is like wine… Older, the better, and it has to be drank at least twice. If you went through all this trouble to tell me that you don't know how to move on, I'm telling you that you don't have to move on. This my advice. I've lost a son and a husband. I've known love… I know love. And I want you too to know it. In the same proportions, being in a bed, or in just a peaceful walk. Or just a glance on the corner of an eye. Or just in a word. That's what I can tell you. You say the word, and I will most certainly make this house vacant just for you too to resolve whatever you have to resolve with your lives."

Elsie was the one mesmerized this time. It was too much kindness, the kind of kindness she wasn't expecting from a woman like Isobel. She seemed so busy, but always so full of kind words and such a big heart. Elsie smiled to herself, knowing it was the right decision to come all this way to talk with this woman.

"And you, Mrs. Crawley… Does a man have you in his eyes as well?" She asked, knowing the answer, or at least thinking she knew the answer.

Isobel laughed. Certainly, not the kind of question she was expecting. "Well, at least a few, but… You've seen a man walking out of my house. It should be enough for you of an answer."


	4. Chapter 4

**This how I'll wrap up this story. In the meantime, there will be new stories, one of them being a crossover between Downton Abbey &amp; Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, but that'll be a long journey, but one I want to give to you all (even if it sounds a bit cheesy in my head). As always, thanks for waiting ever so patiently, for all your replies, reblogs, reviews and kudos, and for the support. Life is a funny, harsh thing.**

-/-

[Several Hours Lately]

Elsie couldn't take Isobel's words from the back of her mind. Love being like wine, such a exquisite analogy, but a true one nonetheless – the more Elsie thought about it, the more sure she was she had to something. She had to sip the wine again, eventually… soon, before she exploded and the wine was spilled all over the floor and everything she built in that house.

Mindlessly she stared onto the wall, her tea getting cold on her cup, sitting on that cold chair. The lights seemed to dim, but she didn't seem to care, as it was going to be late enough for her and she had to return to her room… But for some reason, she hoped he'd show up. Knock on the wood of that door, help himself in, ask her what was wrong, what was she doing so late in her pantry. And she'd get on her feet, look at his gentle eyes, breathe deeply and tell him everything she wanted to tell him in that moment.

How she wanted his arms around her waist even if for a mere second. How she wanted to share the same cup of tea with him. How she wanted to walk closer to him when they return home from church. How she wanted him to read her the poems she held to heart, so she could think it was him who wrote them. How she wanted his breath to blow up the candle's flame and the same breath to fill her throat as he kisses her goodnight. How she wanted to dance with him while that exquisite jazz music was playing.

…But he wouldn't show up, would he? No, he wouldn't. For all she cared, for all she knew, he was gone for the night. Sleeping to his heart's content. Not a care in the world. Not any regarding her. She shook her head, waking up from her desires, and got up, and this time she was the one to blow up the candle.

…

"Did everything go well with Mrs. Hughes this afternoon?"

Richard sat across Isobel, as the night fell and only the weakening light of the room made sure the only thing between them were the shadows.

"Quite, yes." She took a sip from her cup. The sherry was sweet but felt like burning down her throat for a second. "…What do you think of her?"

He looked quite amazed, yet puzzled about the question. Richard was Elsie's doctor, he was everyone's doctor. All he knew was one thing or two more personal, all the others analytical.

"I think she's a fine woman, yes. A huge heart, a bless to talk to. I'm afraid I don't know much about her… I imagine you stand on another ground." He smirked.

Isobel chuckled. "Well… We've been through some things together. She made me see some things, I've done the same to her. And to think we're about the same age… I think she has managed better than I've ever done."

"I can't really comment on that." His smile was tender. He couldn't agree. He couldn't disagree. He was a stranger to the topic. "But if you say so, I must add that to my eyes you two are intelligent women, ahead of your own time. But I know you. Sadly, I don't know her."

"Don't say that!" Her tone was rightful, but as sweet as his flirting words. "You will know her. She's a good woman, I can tell you that. She helped me out of my own misery, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. You wouldn't as well."

"I… I like to think I've helped you too. You took me out of mine too." He stood and approached the widow, holding out his strong hand, which she took into hers and held onto it as she stood up.

"You're a different case, you're a different person. I know you. I love you."

His lips were cold, but his breath wasn't. It tasted like sherry and a certain kind of poison. Her lips were warm, and her breath tasted like love and tenderness. He held her onto his embrace, as the kiss seemed to slow down time. His heart was beating to the rhythm of her own.

"…I guess I'll have to leave now. Don't want to spoil your night." He broke the kiss, his lips smiling faintly.

"I can't seem to force you to stay, now, can I?" She joked. She didn't want him to leave. She hated how cold her bed was when he wasn't there. "You would never spoil my night."

…

Work was as tiring as ever, but it had its bits when Elsie felt like she was doing something new. Every sharp word from Beryl's mouth, every mischief she saw happening from the corner of her eye. Every move and talk Charles would do with her. But she stopped looked at him as the butler, at least that evening, as he sat across her, cup on his hand. Beryl had left them, as if she knew what Elsie had on her mind. He talked, and talked, and talked, and Elsie did not say anything more than a yes and a nod from her heavy head.

"…I wonder if I've been talking to the walls, Mrs. Hughes." He joked, even though he had his severe voice coming from his throat. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

Elsie was startled, for in fact, she had heard that last remark. She almost had her cup fall flat on the floor.

"No, most certainly not… I was lost in my thoughts, nothing more."

"And must I write the king, asking permission to try and ease said thoughts, or will you be so kind to let me?"

She looked at him. How could he not understand, how could he not ask something else? Had he forgotten what they shared in the past? Had he ever dreamt about her while he slept alone, or was this a race where only Elsie ran? She wanted to be mad, and yell, and scream, and slap him… and cry while she ran away from him. But no, she didn't do any of that.

"…I can't seem to take you out of my mind." She did say this. Looking to the ground. Her hands shaking, her cup being on the table after that earlier scare.

Charles said nothing. He felt every muscle in his body to stiff, he felt his throat to go sore. He took those words to the heart, and they felt like a hammer stomping a nail.

"It's been years. Years since we stopped. And I can't go on like this."

"…" Charles stood quiet, listening to her.

"We were in love, weren't we? I believed we were. I remember we were. We took so many chances, running away at night for an hour or two, so we could be alone. Years went by. And why have we never talked about this? Did we become strangers to each other?" Elsie voice was like the cry of a prey, hurt by the predator. "It's difficult to hold everything inside, Mr. Car… Charles…"

"It's difficult for me too. We are not strangers. I just… didn't want to damage our future… It's very difficult to not see you like I did in the past. The years go by, and I hold on to those memories so heavily too. Don't make me… Don't think I've been ignoring you… Your signals, your eyes, your everything…"

He was talking… By the heavens, he was talking. She wasn't imagining he'd talk, but for some reason, his tone of voice was the same one that swept her from her feet all those years ago. She could his hands shaking too. She felt bad for ignoring what it must have been for him…

"I remember it so well. That night, we ran to the woods. The summer of that year made the earth so warm and comfortable. You ran in front of me, pulling me with you, and we found a safe place for us. Your eyes gleamed with the light of the moon, your sweat was the sweetest perfume. You kissed me, and I kissed you as we laid on the warm soil beneath the tall trees. We had only spent the night together a couple of times, but it always felt like it was the first time… And now, I can't give you that. That's why I hold on to the memories… because I can't give you the love I gave you in the past. That's why I've chosen to do nothing as the years went by… We had an agreement, yes, but there were occasions… And I did nothing. I'm terribly sorry. I'm the worst man you could have… I can't be the same man I was…"

And tears fell from his eyes. He was crying, but no sobs echoed in the room. Elsie was crying too, because he was wrong. He could give her love, if he still loved her. She didn't want a ring, a son, a house, a family. She wanted him, and nothing more. Only him. Just him.

"…Charles, don't do that to yourself…" She kneeled in front of him, and made sure his hands weren't shaking as she held them. "…Don't cry because of lies. Can't you see that I don't care if you're not the tall, dark stranger you were twenty years ago? You're the tall, dark lover I had, and I've never stopped loving you. I can't give you the same things I gave you. I'm afraid I've gained weight, wrinkles, gotten old. Just like you. But I love you the same… I just can't stand not telling you that it is still the same, old love. I remember that night too. I remember the soil, the moon, and how we melt into each other's bodies. And I know that I love you now as much as I did back then."

"…You…" He lowered his stare to her, his own tears dripping onto his lap. "…after all this time…?"

"Like it was the first time."

And he knelt too, not letting go of her hands. He pulled her into him, her chest against his, and her lips tasted the same. He loved her and the kiss they shared was as beautiful and enticing as it was years ago. And as they laid on the floor gently, their love was like an old candle burning bright once more. Her smell filled his lungs, and he felt like he was young again. Her clothes slowly being taken from her still beautiful body, revealing the Elsie he loved ever so much. Her sounds echoing through his mind, as quiet as whispers, as hot as flames, as he kissed the same neck he kissed in the past. Her legs felt the same, even if the stockings were still there. She felt the same. His hands followed her curves, and she let him love her like they used to. Even if slowly, more gently, more quietly. Their hearts beat at the same pace, and as he had her, and she had him, the candle of their love burned brighter. It was desperate love, but gentle on its own right. Both of them needed a taste of lust filling their bellies, and even if sudden, both of them moved together like perfect clockwork.

"I love you the same…" He whispered against her ear, like a wolf howling to the bright moon.

"I love you the same."

…_And when the sun comes up,  
we'll be nothing but dust,  
just the outlines of our __** s**_…


End file.
